It took him a moment to realise he was face-down on the table.
A familiar, menacing voice admonished him for sleeping through most of their match. He lifted himself, trying to hide the ache in his eyes and body.
One thing he knew instantly — his arms were empty.
Bakura's smug face waited across a long table. Anger pulsed hot and vicious through his chest.
After all the waiting, all the doubt, he had finally told her the truth of his heart — and she had chosen him back.
She chose me.
His jaw clenched. She could have had anyone she wanted, a quiet life, the freedom she desperately wanted.
But she chose me — and loving a Pharaoh leaves you anything but free.
His body felt centuries old.
He wanted to leap across the table and tear the smirk from Bakura's face. More than that, he wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing him so weak and so uncomposed.
"Where are we?" he couldn't hide the anger in his voice. "Tell me!"
They exchanged numerous insults and questions. Each one winding him tighter and tighter.
Then something clicked. "Wait, so if I don't defeat Zorc, then I lose the game?"
"You'll lose much more than that…"
He wound tighter, ready to snap.
But the time had come to draw his cards.
Only the Gods knew how long she had been here.
The tears had long since dried, leaving her throat raw and her chest heavy.
Still, grief came in slow, relentless waves.
All this time, she had believed herself to be independent. Everything was her choice — or so she'd believed.
She made her decisions.
Now there was only darkness.
Solitude. Silence.
No parents. No Pharaoh. No winds.
Alone.
She used to crave that word.
Before, people were a burden that only got in her way. Until the Pharaoh had opened her eyes.
Now it terrified her.
Through cracked breaths and shallow sobs, the smallest smile tugged at her lips. Her skin felt tight from the tears; even smiling hurt.
But before this prison — before the chains — she had held him.
He had held her.
They had spoken the words.
No regrets.
Even when the world tore them apart, they always snapped back together — stronger than before.
I chose him.
And he chose me.
The thought steadied her pulse.
But the quiet pressed in again.
Am I just chasing the shadow of our love?
Regret was heavier than iron. She knew that too well.
And then —
Soft. Fragile.
A memory rose from somewhere deep in her chest in answer.
A melody.
Old as sand.
Her voice cracked when she tried to hum it, rough with thirst and disuse. But it came anyway.
The song her mother used to sing.
When the nights were long. When the winds howled. When Zahra was small enough to sleep against her chest.
A lullaby.
Barely louder than breath, she sang.
Sleep now, my little one
Sleep, do not wake
Moon keeps the silence
Dunes gently break
Hush now, my heart
Rest in my hands
If I must lose you
Love understands
Stone stand behind you
Steady and strong
Gold light before you
Guide you along
Storm guard above you
Red wings unfurled
If I can't hold you
Let it hold the world
Sand to bone, bone to sand
All souls wander home again
Sleep now, my sunlight
Sleep, do not fear
Even in leaving
I am still here
And when you call me
Soft as you roam
Wind will remember
And carry you home
The last note trembled apart in the dark.
And silence answered.
Then—
The cold stone floor softened, cool grass brushing her bare feet.
She inhaled sharply.
Grass.
Her toes curled. She could almost feel sunlight warming her skin.
The palace gardens — the last place she'd heard this song.
When Atem asked her to sing.
It took a few moments for her to notice the ache in her cheeks. She remembered him.
His smell. His touch.
His beautiful, vulnerable confession.
"I am yours. And you are mine."
She said to the darkness.
Then she smelt it—
Citrus blossoms, warm earth, water on stone.
Her lips parted in a fragile, disbelieving smile.
A breeze touched her ankle. Gentle. Testing her.
Then the other. Climbing slowly, like careful hands.
Her breath hitched.
"You came back…" she whispered.
The winds threaded through her hair, tangling softly, stroking her scalp like fingers she remembered from childhood.
She wasn't alone.
She had never been alone.
A voice rumbled through her bones.
You must awaken.
Maahes.
Fear flickered.
She had no idea how to do what he was asking of her.
But this time — it didn't root her in place. Because the winds didn't leave.
They stayed, curled around her like arms.
"Thank you, my friends," she breathed.
She opened her eyes.
In the cell, the darkness made her blind. She couldn't find her feet, let alone herself.
Blind. Again.
And suddenly—
Understanding.
Never had she been more attached to the world than when she was blind. Never had she felt more. Smelled more. Tasted more.
Seen more.
Sight had never been her true strength.
Connection was.
"Friends, please. Guide me," she whispered, closing her eyes willingly this time.
Leaning back into the damp stone. The breeze deepened.
Sandy. Floral. Warm.
As she slipped away, she smirked.
This wasn't falling.
She was being caught.
With every passing second, the sounds grew louder. Clearer.
The winds bickered like old times.
Her mother's laugh followed.
Her father's steady warmth.
The Goddess.
Maahes.
All of them.
They had been waiting.
"We never left you," there was a feeling of trickling grains, "before, you simply could not hear us."
"You felt us, though." A floral scent filled her nose. "We have always guided you."
Her lips curved.
A hearty laugh escaped her. Throughout her life, she had experienced a feeling: sometimes a sudden cool breeze, a light tug at her hair, or an abrupt scent that caught her attention.
A tingle of awareness.
"All those times that I felt alone, I had never been truly alone." She shook her head in disbelief.
Not prey.
Not broken.
Not alone.
"You are a child of the Oasis," The Goddess spoke.
"Thank you, everyone, for not abandoning me."
"Never." They echoed in unison.
"Now," Maahes commanded.
"Open your eyes."